A Matter of Time
by Caelta
Summary: It only takes one thing to change a life. It's only a matter of time before it takes hold. On Helen Magnus's birthday, time catches up with her in a most unexpected fashion. From here, she will begin a journey that will face her with the most difficult decision she will ever have to make: Druitt, or Tesla?
1. One

A/n: Just so we're clear, I'll probably only update once every billion years. Just gonna put that out there. That said, I'm really thankful to anyone willing to stick that out for the sake of the story. For all who are Magnitt shippers, I can't hide the fact that I lean toward Teslen, but I promise all that there there will be a fair share of both as far as I can help it, because the story centers on a larger idea. If that makes anyone feel like screaming, that's probably normal. Let's just rely on some common ground-we all like Magnus, right? (Yes we do!) Anyway, thanks for reading, guys. It'll be a fun ride. :)

I own nothing, by the way.

* * *

_Time is a very tricky and misleading sort of character: an entity which we both hold dear and despise. It is a fine line on which we are born and on which we perish, both the invisible noose around our necks and the rope that holds us suspended. But I'll let you in on a secret: time isn't perfect. With man as its creator, how then can it grow to be less twisted and cracked, or less easily manipulated, than the mind of humanity?_

One:

Helen entered the lift as would a prisoner led to her untimely execution. It was with resignation that she returned the suspiciously casual greeting of the man already inside.

"Morning," said Will, and she didn't miss the accompanying sidelong glance. It left no doubt in her mind.

"Don't bother," she told him.

"What?" The look he wore was one of innocence.

She sighed. "You know."

For a minute, the psychiatrist only raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself in question. His smirk was what spoiled the act.

"Ok, so—163." He drummed his fingers on the side paneling.

She shook her head. "Time flies."

"Or, wait—is that 276?"

"I prefer not to keep track, thank you."

"So why do you?"

"I don't, but every year someone like you is there with cake and noisemakers to remind me."

"I don't have cake or noisemakers."

"Not yet," she said pointedly. It was only a matter of time.

The power flickered. "Nikola's arrived, I take it?"

Will nodded sheepishly and motioned as if to shoot himself. "His sociable and compassionate self, as usual. And, uh…something else."

She was immediately on the alert by the way he said it. His tone of voice, though she wasn't sure exactly why, was enough to make her stomach churn just the slightest bit. She folded her arms to ward it off. "What?"

For some unknowable reason, he looked sympathetic. "I wouldn't say _what_ so much as, uh…who."

Her demand and his subsequent relinquishment went unspoken—all she had to do was glare, and he bowed his head to choke out the name.

"Druitt."

Her next staggered cough was drowned by broken song and streamers as the doors to the lift slid open to reveal a group of four, joined by Will, that chanted Happy Birthday. She smiled placidly back at them, but her heart was still in her throat.

She was less surprised by his having found her here in this underground fortress than at his being alive and well, but if she thought about it, she probably shouldn't have been surprised at all. He had a penchant for turning up alive when she least expected it, and the annual celebration of her birth seemed to be no exception.

In fact, it seemed to be the occasion.

"Where is he?" she tried to request, but she seemed to have taken a step too forward. Something was wrong. Helen stumbled back into the elevator just as Will rushed in, hauling with him a gurney occupied by a noisily weeping woman. The change was so sudden and dramatic that she found her head spinning in coming to grips with it.

"Where's who?" he asked breathlessly, jamming an elbow into the button panel.

Something was unquestionably wrong.

She looked on with a reasonable amount of bewilderment and wondered if she'd blacked out—but no, it didn't coincide with the fact that she was still standing in the lift. The air seemed different, too—less crisp. Recirculated.

"John…" she replied, absently. Even as he tried to pump oxygen into the woman beneath him, Will fixed her with a look she knew well to mean 'you're nuts.' She found it didn't bode well.

"John who?" he shot back, sounding concerned. The question alone transformed her blood to ice-water.

She tried to focus on locating a logical explanation, thinking back to past encounters with abnormals capable of altering reality, but it was difficult with the now-screaming woman. There were three long stains stretching the length of her abdomen that were bleeding through an impromptu bandaging job, and Helen recognized them as claw marks. There was also a jagged puncture on her neck. Both wounds looked fresh.

"These are the work of a vampire," she breathed. Will looked more worried than startled by her discovery.

"Magnus, uh…are you feeling alright?"

They reached the medical wing, and she followed him through to where she helped lift the injured woman swiftly onto a bed. It all seemed like business as usual for the scanty staff there, not a one looking surprised at their entrance. Someone she didn't recognize began pouring over the patient, and as Will led her out by the arm she came to the realization that she was not wearing the same outfit she'd chosen for herself less than an hour before.

He stopped her by the next corner, rounding on her almost urgently. Up close, she noticed the rough edges of his face and decided he couldn't have touched a razor for over a couple days. "Ok, care to explain why you're acting so bizarre?"

'You first,' she wanted to say, but it did seem that she was the only one nonplussed by what was transpiring. This was all strangely reminiscent of the time she'd spent in Honduras searching for a cure to immortality, but she had yet to see anything in her lifetime for which she could not produce an explanation.

Squinting across at her, Will seemed to judge by her expression that his question wasn't going to award him any answers. She couldn't agree more.

"Look," he said, gentler. "I think…I think we ought to get you checked out."

At this point, she wasn't so sure she didn't believe him. "Fair enough, but I'd like to see John first, if you don't mind."

"Who the…" he stopped himself. "Magnus, you're concussed."

"Is he here?"

"Listen to me. You need medical attention. You have—"

"Will, I'm fine," she interrupted, none too sure of her diagnosis. True, she hadn't the slightest clue as to what she'd gotten herself into, but she was willing to bet real money that it was not as simple as a knock on the head. She had enough experience under her belt to know that, as with all things, this would unravel in time—nor did she consider this the strangest thing to have happened to her.

Experience was also what pointed her in one of two directions, because it was a slim chance that the only mind-boggling thing she'd had the misfortune of dealing with in a week didn't come in on the heels of one of her two oldest—and most trying—friends.

Assuming John was inexplicably out of the question, she had only one other option left to her.

"Magnus, you're not _fine_," Will continued indignantly, but she interrupted him once again, changing tactics.

"I'll need to see Nikola, then. I assume you know who that is?"

The psychiatrist fixed her with a look somewhere between bothered and amused, taking a break from his attempts to drag her back towards medical. "Believe me, I wish I didn't."

That permitted a small amount of relief. "He's here, I trust?"

When he realized she truly intended to pay a visit to the man in question, Will started to look doubtful. "I, uh…" He paused. "I don't think that's such a great idea."

Her suspicion flared, and she thought back to the woman in the lift. "Why is that?"

He began to look uncomfortable. "This _is_ Tesla we're talking about."

"Will, I've known him for longer than you've been alive. Trust me, I know." There wasn't anyone alive who could stir up trouble faster, but right now she needed his mind.

"Look, if you think you can handle it then be my guest, but if it were me I'd give it some time for this to blow over."

"For _what _to blow over?" Here was yet another of those troublesome inconsistencies. It reminded her of their labors to capture the Praxian nanite in the computer network—then, much like now, things had been eerily _same_ and _different_.

"The Boston affair. He's still holding it against you."

She contemplated this, but it frustratingly held no meaning for her. Still, she couldn't risk further estranging herself before she had the chance to talk with him. "I'm sure he'll come around."

"Thank God if he does. I think he's attracting every storm on the east coast."

"I can't make any promises." Helen gave his shoulder a friendly pat as she brushed past, but every step away from him brought her closer to confusion.

"Good luck," she thought she heard him call after her, but she was already winding her way down towards where, under normal circumstances, she might find the man of her search. Just beneath the cavern housing the infrastructure of her magnum opus there was a reserve that fed into a lake. It was this that had singled out the ideal location when she had nothing but frugality and self-sufficiency in mind for a service she meant to take—both figuratively and literally—underground.

Within the first week of arriving he had anointed this his favorite spot, mostly because it provided the greatest seclusion. Everyone but a few brave souls—namely, she and Tesla—was careful to avoid the area on account of the resident naga.

Her instincts proved correct when she found him sitting on a rock near the edge of the water, his form given a slight glow by the luminescence of the indigenous moss. He was busy flicking pebbles at the abyss, and didn't turn when she approached.

"I thought I might find you here," she said quietly, erring on the cautious side. He said nothing, but his next throw had a bit more force behind it. "Mind if I sit down?"

She took his silence as an affirmative and seated herself next to him. "You know you'll upset the naga if you keep at it."

"Spit it out, Helen." He said it with so much venom she nearly jumped, and hurtled the rest of his entire fistful out to where it splashed with a series of echoes.

"Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't be down here talking to me if you didn't need my help. So spit it out. What ails the immaculate world today?"

Will had been right—he was seething.

It was with a sensible amount of guilt that she realized Tesla was right, too; she was only down here to request his help, even if she had yet to ascertain how she'd upset him in the first place. A sense of pique rose at the back of her mind, demanding that the situation was absurd, but she swallowed it.

"Nikola…" she struggled how to start. Any attempts to explain to him how the world was suddenly upside-down ran the risk of his coming to the same conclusion as Will.

"You may stop right there if you're trying to make me feel better. It won't happen."

"Nikola, _honestly._ You wouldn't even _be_ down here if you didn't want me to come and find you."

He picked at the moss underfoot, caught-out. "You may have a point. I'm listening."

"Good. Something isn't right, here."

"To what are you referring?"

"Everything. Nothing seems right. I don't know, it's like everything is all the same as it was before, but things have…changed."

For reasons she couldn't begin to fathom, he looked as if her words offended him. Certainly, it did not take much to offend the sensibilities of Nikola Tesla, but she had thought she'd been rather polite up to this point.

"Things have changed," he deadpanned, for all the world like it was some sick joke. He stood. "You'll miss me, you know."

Following him as he started to stalk impudently away from her, she had a creeping suspicion that she'd been horribly misunderstood. "Nikola, what the _hell_ are you on about? Calm down. I'm trying to tell you something."

He whirled on her, eyes flashing black for an instant too long. "I think you've made it rather clear. I also think you'll find I know when I'm not wanted."

"For _heaven's sake_, when did I… Listen, there was a woman this morning, human, who came through fairly heavily wounded at the hands of a vampire. Now, to my knowledge, the event was out of place. I have a handful of medical personnel I barely recognize, and Will acts as if he doesn't have the foggiest notion who John is. Please tell me this means something to you."

She needn't have been surprised that this served to make Tesla livid, considering that this seemed to be the ongoing state of things. He raised a finger at her, and she noticed with a hint of concern that he was trembling.

"I knew it. Oh, Helen Magnus, you are one to talk. All the time spent following the yellow brick road to forgiveness, but the truth is, you still blame me, don't you? No, no—don't even try to deny it now. You do, and I'll tell you why: because you can't forgive me for starting this war if you cannot forgive yourself for John." Before she could begin to work out who should be forgiving whom for what, he added, "John is dead, Helen. He died in 1888. That's one hundred and twenty four years ago. He's hit the big dead-end, a real dead-beat, dead silence, nevermore! But you and I—we're still alive. And while I live, I will fight."

Whether he meant he'd fight in this 'war' or fight for her forgiveness, she didn't know, but she didn't pretend to understand any of what he'd said to her. It made the very muscle of her heart ache to hear that John was dead, but her mind didn't believe a word of it. John had no business being dead when she had it on good authority that he'd been right here in this Sanctuary on her birthday—which was to the best of her knowledge still today.

As if on cue, Tesla turned as he stormed out to spit over his shoulder, "Happy Birthday, by the way."


	2. Two

A/n: Since chapter one left you in the dark, this will hopefully light a couple candles for you. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcome!

And, of course, I don't own Sanctuary.

* * *

On the first step over the threshold to her office, Helen felt dizzy. She noticed vaguely that there was someone waiting for her, but she was much too busy clinging to the doorframe to keep from falling over to pay much heed.

Belated recognition kicked in as she was focusing blearily on the floor, and she looked up with a start.

"Boo!" Kate said unconvincingly, sitting in Helen's chair with her feet slung on top of the desk. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

It couldn't have been…

She shook her head. "I'm here to go through some old logs."

Kate frowned, slouching down further into the seat. "We already did that. That's why I'm here."

"We did?" Oh, dear.

"Yeah. Right after you told Vlad that he was a dumbass and Jackie-boy that he'd kicked the bucket. You told me to stay here while you went to check on something else."

"You know John?"

" 'Course. Big tall guy—can't miss him."

Something started to form in Helen's mind, an idea of some kind, but it was of yet a primordial essence of thought. "Kate, what happened after you all surprised me this morning?"

In the process of balancing a ballpoint on her nose, the younger woman shrugged. "You pretty much went berserk. You kept asking where some woman was, and then when we tried to cut you up some cake you said that there wasn't any time for it—something about some ginormous war with the vamps, extinction of the human race, yada yada. Oh, and you _really_ went bonkers when you saw Jack the Ripper. We thought you were pulling another one of those crazy-Magnus gags, you know like you did to get rid of that mind-reader lady who was after Big Bertha?"

The idea in her mind began to cement. "I think I may know what's been going on."

"Damn," said Kate, having dropped the pen. "You already said that, too. That was before you walked off to check on something. Speaking of which, you dropped something right before you walked in here."

Helen looked to the floor; sure enough, there was something there. She bowed to pick up the slip of paper and regarded it carefully, identifying her own handwriting. A note to herself—it made her smile a little at her own expense.

All the paper really had on it were the words _divergence_ and _John_, but that was all she really needed to know. Her alternate had picked up on it a little quicker, but it hadn't taken long for her to catch up.

Somehow—and she was still a little iffy on the how—she was being slung back and forth between this universe and another, alternate one. It was the only explanation, and the answer to that, she was sure, lay with John. It made a prickle rise on her skin because she knew where this would inevitably lead.

It was her fault.

Nikola—the other Nikola—had said John had died in 1888. She remembered this distinctly as the year he had come to her requesting treatment. Without it…she felt a tiny shudder pass down her spine. The only reason he would go without would be that he no longer believed it to be of worth. She had given him that reason when she had altered her past: when she had stood up to his advances, beaten him, and demanded he stay away. She had proven herself to be dangerous and unpredictable, untrustworthy and no longer capable of being manipulated, but above all she had rejected him.

…and it had driven him to a path of murder and suicide.

"You ok, boss?"

Helen started to find herself still in the room with Kate and nodded swiftly to cover up the gesture. "Yes, fine," she answered a little too sharply. Before ducking out the door, she added, "Take your time; I don't know if I'll be back."

She headed out towards the labs, moving quickly, but she didn't get far. The next turn brought her into a collision course, and it was Druitt who caught her by the shoulders before she had the opportunity to run into him.

"John," she said, not displeased. When he didn't release her, she took a step back. "It's good you're here. Come with me; I need to find Nikola."

This was not a time for salaam and salutations.

"If that's the case," he said, not following after her as she started off down the corridor, "I believe you're heading in the wrong direction."

She stopped, mildly peeved. "Would you mind telling me where he is?"

"This way," he gestured cordially to the other end of the hall, giving her a slight smile.

As they walked, him slowing his pace to match hers, she could feel him struggling for words. There was a stuffy silence between them that lasted for almost a minute before he broke through with, "Helen…"

She didn't let him finish. "I have a theory, but I'll have to confirm it with Nikola first."

"Helen, let me help you. Trust me."

Helen kept her eyes on the floor, sighing. She had yet to figure out if she was glad to see him or not, and she wasn't in the mood for more guesswork. "John, I honestly don't know if it's possible I can be helped at the moment. I appreciate the offer, but I think the best that can be done is if you listen to what I have to say to Nikola."

She spotted the man in question skulking about in the library, pouring over her wealth of scientific theory. He was currently balanced at the top of one of the ladders there, squirreling away one of the smaller publications on spectroscopy.

"Come down from there," she told him. "We have an important matter to discuss."

"Helen!" He grinned down to her, the expression dissipating somewhat when he glanced to her companion. "I see you have a new collection of historical research. Been busy?"

"Nikola, you haven't touched my anthropological compilations in decades."

"How can you tell?"

Impatient, she pointed for him to come down. "The wine stains."

"Ah. They add character, don't you think?" Once he was planted firmly on the ground before them, she noted the sudden spike in the room's intensity with little surprise. It was like this every time they were in a room together; anyone else might have called it rivalry.

"I would like your opinion on something," began Helen slowly.

"I promise I'll be brutally honest," he said, smiling devilishly. A meter away, Druitt glared, but mercifully held his tongue.

"You may need to be," she admitted. "I trust you're both familiar with temporal theory?"

"Some more than others," Tesla interjected.

"I suggest," growled Druitt, "that you watch yourself, Mr. Tesla."

"No need to be jealous."

"You're out of line, old boy."

"Gentlemen, _please_," Helen intervened with a growing lack of patience. "That's quite enough." Once satisfied with their level of attention, she elaborated. "Now, we know of course that in the case of altering the course of history, the result would create a divergent path: an alternate universe, if you will. What I'd like to know is if it is at all possible that the creation of such would allow for any sort of…instability, or…paradox that might allow for the merging of these two universes."

"Are you saying you've done something to alter the path of our history?" Druitt wanted to know.

"Oh, Helen," chided Tesla, "of all people, you should know better."

"What I'm _saying_ is…I believe that what happened this morning was the result of my shifting between two separate realities. The Helen Magnus you saw was likely just my counterpart."

"As exciting as you make it sound, I'm afraid I'm way ahead of you." A little smug in her opinion, Tesla held up the book he'd just retrieved in emphasis. "Whatever little dirty deed you pulled one hundred years ago could have separated any future beyond that point into a range of paths. Think of it as light going through a prism—the rainbow of our realities. Pot of gold sold separately, of course."

"I've only visited one other reality," put in Helen.

"So you've noticed. May I refer you to the first law of thermodynamics?"

"You don't mean…?"

"Keeps it interesting, don't you think?"

"You're assuming the universe is a closed system."

"You're assuming it isn't."

The moment she flung her arms up in defeat was the moment Druitt chose to reacquaint them with his presence in the form of a loud cough.

"Careful now, we mustn't upset the children," smirked Tesla.

Feeling a little guilty, Helen turned to meet the impatient gaze that was directed at her. There was no good way to put it. "He thinks that the only reason I haven't as yet been able to enter more than one other reality is because…" She averted her gaze. "Any other reality besides the one has been rendered inaccessible to me."

"How?" By the look he fixed onto her, he'd already started to work out the answer to his own question, but owning to some softer emotion, only waited for her confirmation.

It was Tesla who answered him. "Quick lesson: matter and energy are only exchanged equally. If she hasn't popped up in any other wayward realities, it's because an exchange isn't possible. Need I make that simpler?"

"Do you mean to say that in some countless number of universes, she's dead—that she could have been dead for years?"

"So nice of you to join us—try to keep up."

Druitt bristled, but rounded instead on Helen. "What aspect of history was it, exactly, that you altered?"

"Oh yes, do tell," prodded Tesla.

She felt herself immediately on the defensive, biting back a tactless remark on who, exactly, had gotten her into this mess. The fact that she'd be required to disclose to them what had transpired had until now been an added truth at the back of her mind when searching for their guidance; it was something she had known was necessary but hadn't quite had the peace of mind to properly dread. Now faced with the task, she was oddly uneasy.

"I had no choice, John. I didn't have time."

"Go on."

"I was chasing Adam through the streets. You located me, unaware of my identity. You were dangerous. You cornered me."

"…and?" He watched her with a frown, seeming not to like where she was headed.

"You killed him," guessed Tesla, a little too pleased.

"Not quite," answered Helen, "although I might as well have. He got off with a few bruises, but that isn't what worries me. I'm sorry, John. I told you to stay away."

Though Druitt looked more remorseful than resentful, Tesla looked incredulous. "Don't tell me you actually listened to her…?"

"Would we be holding this conversation if I hadn't?"

"I was told," said Helen, "that you died in 1888."

Recognition darkened his next glance. "The year I sought your treatment."

She nodded once, apologetically. A brief and reflective silence governed their next pause as they all contemplated the gravity of the situation.

"Nikola," prompted Helen after a moment. "My original question…"

"Ah. What was that again?"

"How is all this possible?"

He tapped at the table behind him, thoughtful, and she regarded him with a leveled measure of hope. Somewhere in his mind was the key to unraveling what was happening, and perhaps even reversing it. Although she wouldn't in a million years feed his massive ego by admitting it to his face, he was a genius, and she needed every bit of that genius now more than ever.

"One thing," said the vampire, looking across at her.

"Yes?"

Tesla only shrugged unhelpfully. "I refuse to work without wine."


	3. Three

Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews!

* * *

It was unusual by any standards for Helen Magnus to feel as powerless as she did. Usually, it meant something altogether sinister for either her life's work or her well-being.

Without proper investigative knowledge, she was unsure how to proceed. She could, at any moment, find herself transported into a life that wasn't her own, and there was no question in her mind that this could very well conflict with her work.

Footsteps distracted her from the debate of whether or not to pass the buck to Will, and she turned in time to see Druitt making his way across to her. She noted the careful placement of his walk and decided she knew where this was headed.

"Helen." He appraised her in the way a doctor might study his patient. "Still sulking, I see."

"Certainly not."

He directed a pointed look at their bleak surroundings: a dim and dust-coated sector that served as a haven to all sometime-missing but long-forgotten items. "You're certain?"

On seeing the mockery lurking behind his expression, she reconsidered her approach. "I realize how this looks, but I'll have you know that I'm a far cry from self-pity."

"You pity _her_, don't you?"

"Ah." Outsmarted. "I'd be lying if I said no."

Druitt leaned into the empty desk across from her, not quite facing her. In stillness, he seemed to blend into the surroundings—a relic out of time. "Expressly, what aim do you mean to undertake in this dust-trap?"

"To be honest, I'm hiding." As soon as the news of her strange lapse had spread, she'd had calls from every sector of her Sanctuary asking about it. While members of her personal team were still trying to summon her birthday celebration back into existence, anyone of authority within the various divisions of her Sanctuary was attempting to summon answers from her voicemail. The only saving grace was that Tesla was too up to his knees in 'theoretical nonsense' to pay her much heed.

Here, she at least had the luxury of sneezing without someone to hold a tissue to her nose in preparation of scientific examination of its contents.

"How unusual of you. From what I understand, you aren't any good at it."

He meant of course how she'd neglected to sit on a mountain-top through the better part of the nineteenth century. How she had instead landed herself in a state of bothersome paradox. How she had, in effect, caused him to meet a brutal end.

"If you're here, I can't be." She wasn't fooled by his nonchalance. No doubt, he'd badgered Henry into pointing him in her direction.

"You wouldn't happen to be hiding from me, would you?"

She shook her head. "No. Taking into account that none of you has seen me vanish on the spot, I suspect that in order for a shift between realities to occur, my location here has to relatively coincide with my position there."

"Hiding from yourself, then."

"Everyone does."

"It's only a matter of time before you catch up."

Helen considered this, knowing he was right, but displaced the thought for later. "In the meantime, I imagine the festivities can suffice without me. I prefer not to take part in their deconstruction of my office."

There had been talk of a piñata, which was now jerry-rigged to the ceiling of her office and, she was sure, producing a mess she didn't have the luxury to bear witness.

John smiled an ironic smile, and it placed a sinister feeling in her gut. "You'll barely lay a hand on any creature, real or fake, and yet when it comes to people—to real human beings, Helen—do you consider the magnitude of the consequences? Do you really think you're any better?"

"Of course not!" It was the Big Bertha argument from the lips of a man she'd murdered; his bias was insurmountable. "I take calculated risks, John. My duty is to keep the balance. I'm only violent when my hand is forced."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? But no, you don't get your hands dirty. You've got your team of disciples for that. You've grown into a killer, Helen."

Anger made her throat clench. "If that's so, then I learned from the best, didn't I? You're no humanitarian."

"Perhaps not, but where does that leave you? Far from the pedestal, I should think. You might be able to conceal that nature from your young disciples, but not me. They deserve the truth about their savior, don't you agree?"

"Truth, John?" She didn't have the heart to bring up the countless times he could have mentioned to her the killings. "I'm afraid that humanity's disposition toward the truth is to ignore it and misuse it. It's why this Sanctuary is still standing and why groups like SCIU exist. My team doesn't see me the way they do because I've been lying to them; they see me how they want to see me because people lie to themselves, John. I don't need to do it for them."

He knew better than to criticize her on such accusations and, after taking a moment think beyond his words, she knew him better than to believe them. His own misdeeds were more than enough to prod his guilty conscience, and Will would have called this deflection. More than likely, he was feeling a good bit put-off about having nothing to offer her under the circumstances, overshadowed by Tesla's more impressive repertoire.

Notwithstanding that she couldn't blame his rage entirely on his own nature.

John cast her a look that wasn't entirely reproachful, but in consideration of her argument he backed down. It wasn't something he did often, and so she was surprised when instead of smashing a fist into a table and declaring how she didn't bother to correct the misunderstandings or reveal her intentions, he simply folded his hands in front of him and stared down at his shoes.

There was a mutual pause before he said, quietly and to his shoes, "I didn't come here to quarrel with you, Helen."

She sighed. "I know, John." It was true that he didn't set out to cause her harm—but neither did he set out to prevent it. She knew from experience that his presence here meant more than party favors and hat tricks—he wanted something. He and Tesla both.

Though Tesla's insufferable attempts to weasel himself beneath her sheets were more of a running joke, she hadn't known Druitt to make a lewd comment to her in decades, and somehow that was worse.

Feeling sympathetic, she decided to throw him a bone. "You know," she told him, "I haven't seen Egypt in a while."

He looked up with a flicker of barely concealed hope. "Egypt?"

Helen nodded patiently. "You don't mind, do you?"

She watched as he shuffled forward, probably relieved that he could finally prove beneficial. He hesitated a moment after she took his proffered hand, searching her face with a look that caught her heart in her throat. "You can't run forever," he said softly. He knew.

She only squeezed his fingers and slipped to his side. "Just for tonight."

They shared a slight smile before he clasped her tighter and ripped across the fabric of the world, depositing them under the glare of the setting sun in a land amongst things remarkably older than themselves.


	4. Four

It was still dark when Helen woke with the feeling that her stomach had flipped on its side. For the time it took for her nerves to settle, she lay completely still, willing the nausea to pass and wondering vaguely why she felt so heavy.

Because her mind had not kicked into focus, she was not yet aware of the implications. Instead, she kicked back the sheets, attempting to roll onto her stomach, and froze when she heard a groan at her back.

A chill shot up her spine as she came to the realization that an arm had been resting on her waist, which now pulled her closer to the body that was behind her. There was breath on her neck, and then a pair of lips which kissed the top of her spine.

"What's wrong?" asked a bleary and familiar voice.

She had stiffened to his touch, and now she pushed and broke away from him, standing wide-eyed and unsteady near the edge of her bed. There was a gun in the top drawer of the bedside table nearest her, but before she could reach for it she recognized her assailant.

"Nikola!" she exploded. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

He propped himself up to look at her, surveying her with a disgruntled expression, and the sheets that slid to his waistline revealed bare skin. "Last I checked, I was being woken up in the middle of the night for reasons that seem to be disappointingly non-sexual." His expression morphed into a tired grin. "Unless you'd care to rectify that."

It was at this point that she realized that she, too, was distinctly lacking in clothing. The reason for this dawned on her as she was scanning the room for said mysteriously absent clothes, and she quickly snatched up a shirt and wrapped it over her torso. Too late, she realized that it was actually a good three sizes too large for her and smelled faintly of Nikola.

"Nikola…" she started, uncertain. She came to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling altogether out-of-place.

He seemed to sense her distress, and moved so that his chin was just over her shoulder. "What?"

She shrugged him off. "I'm afraid I'm not the Helen you're familiar with."

"Oh." He moved back. "So that's a no to the sex, then?"

With a small smile, she shook her head, wondering vaguely whether it still counted as infidelity if he cheated on her with herself. "How much has she—have I told you?"

"Altering the course of history, bouncing between two radically different universes—the usual fare."

"And do you have any theories?"

"Well, I've been a bit preoccupied with the impending domination of the world, but on a purely hypothetical standpoint I'd say the source of your little temporal flux is a lot nastier bug than just nipping at the fabric of history. Separate universes don't normally mingle at parties without a little persuasion."

She frowned, wondering what sort of 'persuasion' could give rise to the mess that was forming around her.

"And I take it," said Tesla, "that my alternate self cannot lay claim to the good fortune of your affections?"

"Whatever else I may say about him, he is persistent." To a fault.

"Ah-ha. Patience is a virtue."

There came suddenly a low sound like howling in the distance, from several miles towards the surface if she had to guess, and she looked to Tesla for clarification.

"Don't worry about that," he said shortly. "It's not your problem."

"But what is it?" she insisted.

"I'll tell you what it isn't: helpful."

"Is it dangerous?"

His gaze hung on hers a moment too long before he replied, "It isn't harmless."

She didn't like the sound of that, but before she could point it out, he interrupted her. "In case you're wondering, I do in fact consider it rude to be asked to leave in the middle of the night. It feels so very…fling-like."

Although she hadn't quite gotten around to contemplating that issue, his protest caused her to revise the thought. "I'll strike you a bargain."

His expression brightened considerably. "Oh, I like where this is going."

"I will ask you to leave only on the condition that you return bearing the highest quality vintage you can find." That should keep him busy.

"A woman after my own heart."

"And I don't suppose you could find it within yourself to put on your clothing?"

"You're wearing my shirt," he pointed out.

"And I don't suppose you own more than one?"

"It's my favorite shirt," he pressed.

"Go, Nikola," warned Helen. "Before I change my mind."

He made a show of sulking his way through the door with a shirt that was off by two buttons, and she was certain he did it on purpose. While he was gone, she took this time to construct a crude laundry list of questions, the most obvious involving the supposed "war."

When he returned, she had found her way into a pair of pants.

"I see you're well on your way to making the night as humdrum as possible," he said, flicking a pointed glance at the pants.

"I assure you this is anything but commonplace."

His next remark was cut off by the same odd howling from before, and he switched tactics by presenting her with a generously filled glass of mahogany-red Cabernet. "It isn't what you think."

"The noise?"

"The vampires."

Helen shrugged doubtfully. "Surprise me." She knew he couldn't.

And she was right. Two glasses of Cabernet later, she had discovered that One: Tesla had appropriated some of the source blood shortly after retrieving it in Bhalasaam, Two: he had used it to contrive a small army of "pure" Sanguine _vampiris_ which he then used to track and destroy the Cabal, and Three: this army had quickly turned on him to raise hell in the worlds of humans and abnormals alike…but it seemed they had taken their sweet time about it. They had risen to power before striking down, just as Helen knew her own Nikola had imagined for his trust-fund trainees.

None of this managed to surprise her.

"How is it that you were able to recover the source blood," was her only question, "without John?"

"Ah. I'll admit that did pose us a bit of trouble, at first. …I'll give you three guesses."

"This isn't a game," she said bluntly.

He leaned forward. "Kill-joy."

Tilting into the gesture with a quasi-seductive pout, she didn't back down. "Need I remind you that I may, at any moment, shift into another universe?"

Tesla's smirk disappeared. His fingers found her wrist. "Ashley."

The one word, as unsuspecting as she was, settled on her stomach like a wave of ice. Her breath caught in her throat. "…how?"

"You isolated the active reagent in your own blood; not as strong as source blood, but effective on, say, a genetic relative."

She shook her head. "Why?"

"Because you had to. She did volunteer, if that suits you better." When she continued to look incredulous, he added, "You do realize that a woman walking around with fifty percent of _Helen Magnus's_ genetic code is not going to sit and watch from the sidelines, right?"

"Fair enough." Taking a deep breath, she threw back the last of her third glass. "Is she alive? Is she…here?"

"In the flesh, her usual impudent and audacious self. She's every inch a Magnus."

Hot tears peaked at the edges of her vision, but only one escaped down her cheek. With her free hand, she swatted it away. Tesla, mercifully, said nothing.

As nonchalantly as possible, Helen removed her wrist from his hand. "These vampires…" she said quickly, "was there no way to…restore them to their original state?"

He took the bait. "Do the words _pure-blood_ mean anything to you? Believe me, I tried everything, but this isn't some watered-down hat-trick. I created them using the source blood. They're even better than _I_ am."

Helen nodded. "How many are there?"

"Enough to turn the whole globe into a war-zone."

"And the abnormals?"

"They've split up into factions," he muttered. "Some went underground. Some decided they were better off with the vampires. They were promised safety if they agreed to serve. You should know—your Sanctuary…it's not just for the creepy-crawlies anymore."

"It's a safe-house," she realized. He only sniffed, draining his glass and reaching for the bottle. "…and what about the government?"

"What's left of it's pouring its money into this free-lance group of know-it-alls who think they can fix the problem by chaining it up with a leash and dropping a war-head on it's…head."

"SCIU…?"

"Oh, so you're familiar with the jackass brigade."

"As I recall," she smirked, "you worked for them."

Tesla grimaced. "I suspect I may be able to account for why I'm so out of favor with you."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it."

"Mm…" Boldly, he reached to top off her glass. "Out of favor…but not out of reach, right?"

"Nikola, we are not discussing this." It was absurd.

"Come on, Helen. My bark is worse than my bite."

"At the moment, it isn't _your_ bite I'm concerned about. You're facing a war with the largest threat to humanity in history, not to mention some sort of glitch in space-time, and all you can do is pester me about my romantic involvement?"

"You make it sound so…sophistic." She glared over her glass, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, go on then. Straight to business. Ask away."

"Adam Worth," she lauched. There it was.

"…is a moron."

She couldn't disagree. "Does he have anything to do with this?"

"Hard to say. He is, quite unfortunately, not alive to answer questions. If you are referring to the troublesome mucking about he did in four-dimensional space, I wouldn't say it's beyond the realm of possibility."

She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. "This is insanity, Nikola. All of these experiences, everything that's happened to us…it's impossible to map out all the differences."

"All with one common denominator, of course." He gestured towards her. "You went through that portal."

Perhaps, then, that was all they needed; perhaps it was the only course of action. She felt almost relieved to admit it.

"We have to go find it," she determined.

He was silent for a moment, only looking placidly across at her. When he spoke, he sounded tired. "It's on enemy territory, and in all probability it's buried."

"Afraid, are we?"

Tesla grinned a knowing grin. "Not a chance."


End file.
